


Best Wife Ever

by foursweaterests



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Yuletide, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foursweaterests/pseuds/foursweaterests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s on the 30th anniversary of Ben’s untimely death (killed by the ghost of Li’l Sebastian, no matter what anyone says.  When you use a Li’l Sebastian t-shirt to wax your car, you’ve gone too far.  Some might even say you deserve the train running off the tracks and plowing through your house.  Some might not be terribly nice people.  But that is the love that Li’l Sebastian inspires in Some.) that Ron Swanson, woodsman extraordinaire and renowned flute-maker, turned to Leslie Knope, Mayor of Pawnee 9 (and a half) terms running  and said, mustache gray but thick as ever, “Leslie.  We should get married.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Wife Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annakovsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annakovsky/gifts).



> **A/N:** This was one of the most fun things I've written this year. Yuletide Madness is _fantastic._
> 
>  **Warning:** Shenanigans. Future fic. Grey hair. People who could conceivably use walkers having a romantic moment. Please drop me a note if I should warn for anything else.

It’s on the 30th anniversary of Ben’s untimely death (killed by the ghost of Li’l Sebastian, no matter what anyone says. When you use a Li’l Sebastian t-shirt to wax your car, you’ve gone too far. Some might even say you deserve the train running off the tracks and plowing through your house. Some might not be terribly nice people. But that is the love that Li’l Sebastian inspires in Some.) that Ron Swanson, woodsman extraordinaire and renowned flute-maker, turned to Leslie Knope, Mayor of Pawnee 9 (and a half) terms running and said, mustache gray but thick as ever, “Leslie. We should get married.”

Leslie looked up from her desk in her Mayoral Headquarters, formerly known as the Parks Department of City Hall. “I thought you had gotten married for the last time, Ron,” Leslie said, her face inquisitive.

Ron grunted uncomfortably and shifted his weight to the left, leaning on the leg that Tammy One _hadn’t_ gone after with a bar of his “gold”. (It was pyrite. It still tickled him pink that she’d fallen for it.)

“Well, Leslie, as you know, there’s no one I respect more than you. Literally. I respect you more than the crew from This Old House.”

Leslie’s eyebrows shot up.

“And if there’s anyone I trust with my stash of gold after I die, it’s you. I want you to continue to move its location every 1.85 years precisely, only using it for the good of people around you.”

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. “And Ithinkwewouldhavekickassbabiestogether.” He coughed.

Leslie nodded. “You make a compelling case, Ron. I’ll have my Deputy Mayor get on it right away.” She shut the folder she was reading from and said, “Deputy Mayor Ron? I’d like you to write a letter to my husband, thanking him for an excellent anniversary gift. Oh, but first? I want you to say that I’m the best wife ever. Say it. Say it. Come on, Ron. Say I’m the best wife ever. Say it.”


End file.
